


Someone knows that I haven't woven crowns of thorns

by BoredPsychopath_JC



Series: Whoever you are, I love you. [2]
Category: London Spy
Genre: AlexLives2K16, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Study, Descriptions of Claustrophobia & PTSD, M/M, Pining, This author chose not to believe what TRS said about Alex's fate, basically his brilliant mind was overwhelmed, emotional Alex, starting to fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredPsychopath_JC/pseuds/BoredPsychopath_JC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He kept his feelings to himself, refusing to leak them via a combination of vowels and consonants. They were certainly eavesdropping. He could not predict the consequence. Would Danny's safety be threatened more? Or less? He could not risk. He dared not. </p><p>He was the one locked in the dark.</p><p><em>If we hadn't met at all, would you have enjoyed a normal and happy birthday?</em><br/>__</p><p>It was Danny's birthday. Alex, very much alive in America, was not coping with new life and work, too well-aware of the fact that his love’s live depended on him. Worrying news was delivered by a surprising figure after a long day. So were new possibilities.</p><p>This is a prequel taking place slightly more than a year before what happened in <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/5454302"><em>Death is only a stone of oblivion</em></a>.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Since I was asked to write more to the original one-shot angst published two months ago(!), I’d planned the outline for this series and written a bit on this. It stopped mostly because I couldn’t come up with a satisfying timeline compatible to the self-contradictory canon materials, plus lots of real life matters. Two weeks ago, I got lovely comments to the earlier fic and I started to work sporadically. Thanks to helpful suggestions from nice people, the timeline was settled last week . Be warned this fic is my way to get past major writer’s blocks, so please forgive me for my rusty writing- it was lovely to get back in shape and enjoy writing again :)
> 
> The events here took place a day after the new media wronged Danny and Alex again, i.e. late September 2014, according to closeup shot of newspaper in episode 2. Again, in this series the title's from the same love sonnet by Pablo Neruda.

Alex was sweating excessively. It was unclear how he folded his naked self in foetal position, restrained in a tiny space. He could see nothing, not even his limbs, yet he could move his hands and neck slightly in the remaining capacity of what held him captive. He flexed his muscles, curling his toes to check. He was never claustrophobic but panic started to swell in his chest. It must be only out of his fear for losing eyesight, according to his nearly non-functioning brain. 

Such a helpless situation was sickeningly familiar. He had possibly gone through these all- he was uncertain- because he had already known knocking at the restricting walls was fruitless, with the sound being muffled by the fabric-like inner lining. He inhaled deeply to calm himself, picking up scents of wood and leather.

He held his breath in alarm as noises reached him. Footsteps dragged on the floor. Startled by the sudden tap on his dark prison, he bumped the back of his head. Someone was trying to speak with a trembling voice.

“A–Alex, it's me. They— they said,” the voice cracked further, “I— I can’t do it, please, no…”

He felt nauseated when he recognised that unique voice, that favourite of his in the whole world, even from background noises from loudspeakers he failed to locate. This was the very last thing he expected. Just when he thought it could not go worse. What the hell was he doing out there? Why?  


“Dan--Danny? Is that you? Are you alright??” Alex finally could cry out, ignoring the pain inflicted by his sudden vigorous movements. _Please- please let this be my hallucination,_ he was begging desperately as he waited for an answer. There were more footsteps, and scratching on the floor.

“They’d let me live o—only if you, erm, agree to their demands. I—I can’t fight them.”

He forced himself to listen closely. Nothing suggested this was a trick. He could not risk.

“I—I will do anything! Listen to me- I’ll destroy my research! Just let him go!”

“Alex! Who are they? Why– why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Danny was whimpering, as if… he was hurt.

With a soft pop, it was all but deafening silence, except his own ragged breathing.

“Danny? Are you still there????” Alex screamed hysterically. "He didn’t know this! I'll do whatever you tell me to. LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Staying conscious was getting difficult. Time was running out.

"Please... Please don't hurt him," he sobbed uncontrollably, slamming his fists at all directions.

He eyes blurred from the tears and sweat; his head dizzy from the unintended impacts and exertion under hypoxia. He had to stay awake. He needed to know where Danny was…

“DANNY ARE YOU OKAY???”

This was his last coherent shout.

 

 

"Dan-ny?"

Alex woke sharply, locked in a fitful of coughs. He must have spoken in sleep again. He was drenched in cold sweat, but physically unrestricted save under a duvet. With a grunt he kicked it away and sat bolt upright. It took him countless eye blinks to make out the silhouette of the room furnitures, thanks to the dim light from somewhere.

His senses finally concluded that he was not cramped in that trunk again. That was nearly five months ago.

He was still breathing. Streetlights made way to his bedroom through the shutters.

He was in his flat. In New York City.

He turned to the digital alarm clock nearby, 3:33am. Realisation stuck when he read the exact combination of numbers that gave the date.

It was Danny’s birthday. That was why his subconsciousness played such a trick during his sleep.

Exactly a year ago, Alex was at a place he could call home. That was one of the best days after they got together. He moved from _how it was like to walk with someone_ to literally _how it was like to indulge someone you were to spend the rest of your life with_. He had been secretly pleased to learn from Danny’s animated talk on how he threw a surprise birthday celebration for his flatmate Sara. He followed suit with a personal twist. He got Danny a perfect birthday night-out and he was rewarded with a fabulous night of sex, no, love-making...

Tears swelled in Alex’s eyes. He was surprised his tear glands could produce another ounce. The nightmare definitely brought out his emotional fragility and sent him unwanted thoughts. He switched on the bedside lamp, picking out few photos from the drawer.

There were a total four of them, all delivered at monthly interval, as part of the deal. They all featured the only reason why he kept breathing. That face looked so distant from what he remembered. Danny looked distraught in the photos. Dark circle appeared under his eyes. Those soulful green olive eyes were hollow and wary. The smile he always adored was wiped off completely. It was difficult to focus at the figures, with blurry vision and shaking hands.

He winced at the memory of waking up on a private transatlantic flight after passing out in the trunk. At Langley, he refused to work on the proposed CIA-MI6 joint programme they briefed him in a meeting room. He never wanted to use his own findings to expose sensitive information; nonetheless, it did catch the interest of all intelligence agencies. His "death" was plotted so as to keep away other interested parties. He remained incorporative till an American slid him a photo across the desk. The photo of Danny sitting on his flat's doorstep. He faintly recalled he reacted violently, until he was triple confirmed Danny's life would be unharmed, in return for his service of modifying and enhancing his lie detecting programme.

So far the photos did not seem fake- Alex counted on the odds that his psychological assessments made them stick to their promise. After all, it was an advantage in this situtation, having a once-in-decades brilliant mind and highly suicidal inclinations.

Caressing Danny's mournful face in the earliest photo, he could not hold back a sob. Would Danny believe he was abandoned? His affectionate partner had just confided in him, holding back nothing about his horrible past. Alex felt obliged he should do the same. No, not _oblige_ , Danny would disapprove the choice of wording. He _wanted_ to share more of his true self to Danny, even though he had no data on how sentimental romantics react, knowing that they had been lied to. He hoped there would be no more secrets between them too. There were of course chances that Danny would have left him after the confession, yet Alex wanted to take the risk, for Danny had amazed him with his understanding.

But things took such a sharp turn before he could even let Danny discover the cylinder so he could explain his work. They were quicker than he thought. He did overestimate himself and did not think throughly.

Now he had a new identity in a foreign city, uncertain of his betrayed love's safety, working against his will for the same institution which killed his relationship and undid its constituents. Perhaps after he was certain with Danny he should have dropped that ambitious work. Sadly, the nonsense what-ifs could not reverse anything. He did involve Danny without giving him a remote idea what he had possibly signed up for.

For that alone, he could never forgive himself.

He had never wanted to hurt anyone in his life. Never. He cringed at the thought of requiring someone to sacrifice for him. His work did not mean any harm to the innocent people. He even promised that suspicious old friend of Danny’s that he would not hurt the only friend he had.

Thoughts tormented him more than he expected. He remained seated cross-legged on rumpled sheets, painfully considering the undeniable facts- he did push the most innocent person he ever met into the whirlpool of lies and danger. He failed the only one person he had ever loved. He had hurt Danny emotionally, as well as probably physically, now and in the future, by leaving him on his own to unknown danger.

Tears threatened to spill, rolling in momentum. He let them wet his cheek. He remembered way too well the last time he was so emotional, down to the minutes and seconds. It was in front of the same man, who loved him deeply enough to attempt to send him away. It was the first time he consciously and publicly wept out of desperation. Nothing could make him forget the tenderness and relief when his Danny wiped away the single tear on his chin with his thumb. They just stood wordlessly on the pavement, locking teary eyes till reassured smiles spread across their faces. Danny was the one who broke the tension with a quick but warm and squishy hug.

There would be no more but haunting memories. He should have let Danny send him away.

With a shiver, he put the precious photos away. He could not bear any creases due to teardrops. It was the only thing he could have control over “Danny” as a whole.

Mindlessly he picked up the pot of cactus next to the box. He did not bother to check for bugs in the soil of those plots of succulent and throned plants scattering across his flat when he moved in. His fingers pressed lightly the thorns. The itchiness was strangely welcoming on his skin. A bit of external physical stimuli reminded him he was still biologically functional.

Picking the thorns, he resolved to make his mind drift further on the agonising subjects. Perhaps he would feel better when he faced them all together at once.

Danny had changed him so much that he could not get back to his old self. His love showed him possibilities he never thought existing. He might even argue that his decision to continue his project because of the trust and care he received. He was thriving intellectually. It felt indisputable to lean on someone so different from him, yet so understanding and patient.

Ironically, Danny’s life now depended on him and he had to stay alive for that, even though he had no active control of his love's safety. It was tremendously formidable to be alone again, having realised that he was never fine with loneliness. He had became a dead man walking after Danny was taken away from him, broken further by the sheer disappointment with himself.

So he was back to square one. He got no comfort, but just more hurt and guilt. His mind offered no solution. It was after all not a math problem but a problem with his overwhelming emotions. The only person who could help him out happened to be the cause, plus the centrepiece of a puzzle which size he could not comprehend at all.

Stilling himself, he fetched a tissue to sneeze. It was the only sound within the flat, so was his footfall as he stumbled into the kitchen, followed by the click of lamp switch and the clink when the electric kettle was plugged into the socket. He watched the emerging steam dissipating in the space. He could not tell if his mind was too full or too empty, with everything mingled in a mess. It was getting chilly in his soaked clothes. A round teabag had already been placed absentmindedly but squarely in the centre of the mug.

He needed a hot drink. It was the only thing he picked up as a habit from his virtually non-existent childhood. A pause for a drink before continue tackling the problem at hand.

While the tea was brewing, he returned to the bedroom to tidy up. At least he planned. Putting things in order often got him satisfaction.

Today, it was like a struggle as he got the sweat-covered sheets and cover packed away for dry-cleaning. He might have break a thread or two in the process. He was sluggish and impatient in action, nearly cursing when his pillow case got stuck. His manners still won over his temper. Nonetheless, he felt far from normal after his room was restored to ready-to-sleep condition.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for his tea on the bar table. It was lukewarm. He frowned at the brownish liquid. His mind was awkwardly noisy.

Should he delved back into thoughts that he was struggling to shut away? He knew too well that some predictions on Danny’s safety could send him panic attack and he should feel pleased he had yet visited them. As if reflex in advance, he began a deep breathing routine, even though from the back of his mind he presumed he could not concentrate at counting.

 _One._  
_Two._  
_Three._

_Four.  
_

_Danny. Love, I'm truly sorry. I really miss you so much._

He kept his feelings to himself, refusing to leak them via a combination of vowels and consonants. They were certainly eavesdropping. He could not predict the consequence. Would Danny's safety be threatened more? Or less? He could not risk. He dared not.

He was the one locked in the dark.

_If we hadn't met at all, would you have enjoyed a normal and happy birthday?_

The swirls of liquid would not take the shape of _yes_ or _no_. He would not expect otherwise. Pinching his nose, he squeezed his eyelids forcefully to clear the exhaustion. Looking up, the clock on the wall pointed at 4:45am.

Not having the privilege to stay in for a day to collect his thoughts, he opted for an early start, pouring the cold tea down the sink. He showered and dressed so quickly that he found himself leaving his flat at 5:03am.

The city had not quite awaken. Dawn had yet to come but noises from yellow cabs passing by were nice distractions. He could dig through his short-term memories whether he had seen the same cab, no, taxi, with the same licence plate.

His favourite cafe was still closed. They served water in the the same brand and type of glasses, once held in those hands and touched by those lips of his love, at their first breakfast date and their later visits. He still could not grasp if he went there because of a piece of glassware. It gave him complicated feelings. He always asked the waiter to remove it from his table with a polite smile. They learnt not to put it on his table after a while, yet it was something close to reassuring when he could have it in his sight on other tables, like a reminder.

But it was the last thing he needed after such a terrible start. On this particular day.

So he headed to the Starbucks nearby. It was another welcoming distraction when his request for “takeaway” was met with a puzzled frown from the new barista, who had been keeping his head glued to the screen to double check the order nervously.

He was apologising and explaining he intended to mean “takeout” when the barista looked up at him for the first time since their exchange began.

A pair of olive green eyes. _Oh._

The colour was lighter, yet enough to remind him of those eyes. Those perfect eyes that once held so much love and promising future. Those truthful eyes he betrayed. They were now forever denied from him.

“I'm so sorry," he muttered, realising he must be staring. He was lost in thoughts again. Publicly. He overlooked the barista's blush and did not catch his following question. He only heard the keyword "name".

"Danny," the name rolled off his tongue before his consciousness caught up.

The rest was a blur before he emerged into the cool early autumn air, a cup and a paper bag in hand. He wandered in the direction of his office. Not even the traffic could distract him. He was absorbed still by the same chaotic bundle of thoughts since he woke up from the nightmare. Thoughts and feelings he could not understand and organise.

It was a while later when he swapped his breakfast to another hand, waiting at the last pedestrian crossings to his destination. The paper bag looked unusually crumpled from his hands. The brown sleeve could not cover the name he spoke without second thought. There was also a string of numbers left by the same writing in black.

He could truly began his new life here. A chance approached him, trap or not. But he found himself glaring at the strange handwriting which scripted his favourite name. It was not from _that_ particular hand.

Since when was he so sentimental and ridiculous?

He binned his coffee with a huff. It had long been decided- there was space for only one mobile number in his mind. He would leave it that way, even if it reminded him of nothing but regrets and guilt. He could wish it would provide motivation too when he could do something more for themselves. He just did not know how. He had no access to information.

Entering the password at his office entrance, he could only hope his tasks today were challenging enough to divert his attention and make time pass faster.


	2. Before midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprising figure delivered news and new possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooooo much for all the lovely comments and kudos! They made my days even though real life issues are so vexing. Sorry I was too occupied to reply individually (I only got back to this site this week for my own works) but I do treasure each of them xx  
> Thanks a lot for bearing with me even though updates are not punctual and the quality of writing here is not quite satisfactory even to the writer herself who'd rewritten it again and again. Sorry for the mess!

Alex stayed the longest at the office, being the first to arrive and the last to leave. 

Work went better than he predicted. With a hefty dose of caffeine in the form of subpar coffee from the pantry, the day dragged on as he managed finishing reading the psychotherapy reports which were meant for the programme. He picked up certain patterns, which meant his brain should still be, thankfully, functioning. It would be another lie if he denied actively searching for scenarios that could link him to his earlier thoughts.

 _It was necessary for testing my self-restraint_ , he convinced himself in vain for the hundredth time, _I do need to know how affected I would be._ Strangely, there were no triggers from the latest report of a woman faking her death to ensure the well-being of her lover. The emptiness in his numb and drowsy mind was something new. It seemed he finally understand exhaustion after overemotional turmoil.

When the artificial lights gradually replaced natural ones outside, he distractedly resolved to dedicate the remaining hours till another day for physical exertion and further pondering on best ways of fitting the latest data in the algorithm. Hopefully, some endogenous dopamine would be sufficient to improve the confusing state of his whole-being.

Biochemistry findings did not lie, unlike human beings.

It proved to be the first acceptable decision of the day. The slightly chilly air brushing against his cheeks was agreeable as he navigated himself in the Central Park, picking off-beaten track for usual nighttime workout. He took deep steady breaths, feeling the soft linen of his running outfit. His route passed places which were as usual not completely deserted. He paid no attention to a figure on a bench until it raised upon his approach. 

A voice called out, “A fluke indeed that we meet here, Turner.”

His former name caught him completely off guard. He could not feel control over his thigh muscles but his soles, however impossible, still felt pressure on the asphalt concrete. Chill crept up his spine. His lagging brain was overloaded with numerous possible scenarios and guesses. Where had he heard that voice before? Was it an operative from agencies which did not buy his staged death?

_Flight or fight? Think!_

_Will Danny be harmed if I am to disappear again?_

"Hope you're managing here," the figure began again, striding to him with an air of urgency. Instead of stumbling for an escape, he was planted at the spot. 

He found himself gasping for air after he was quite sure the man was unarmed. With shallow ragged breaths, he checked the dark-skinned face, black beard and neatly trimmed hair against his memories. A slow conclusion dawned that it was one of the superiors present in the room when he was proposed with the deal. He somewhat remembered only this man showed sympathy in the room, offering even a cigarette break. Be it real or fake.

Still, in this weird situation he could but stare warily, waiting. As if to break the standoff, the unexpected man met the glare and announced smoothly, “Some news for you on this particular day.”

It was neither a bad nor good thing when thoughts and analysis caught up finally. Alex hoped worries were not written all over his face as he noticed something was offered to him in a gloved hand. Stiffening his shaky arm, he took time to reach for it. It was an unsealed envelope. He fumbled the contents out after a quick scan of the surrounding.

There were several photos. He could not still his trembling hands, even after noting the photos showed living figures rather than corpse.

"A pity that the new shirt and tie weren't only for birthday celebration," the older man's voice slipped into the back of his chaotic mind. He tried to gather information from the images under pale street light- Danny was in a shirt he had never seen and it was slightly too big for his slender figure. He ached at the the sight of his love's determined and resolved pose. Like a cornered animal caught moments before its final counterattack at all cost.

"He was on his way to the press," the man sighed. Alex recognised the building and read the date and time on the wall display. It was yesterday.

Another photo showed Danny conversing with a female in suit- he assumed she was a journalist- outside a cafe. 

“You’d hate my comments. Perhaps you can predict what will happen yourself."

The man's words made his stomach turn. He snapped his head up from his love's painful faces.

"Despite the promises made on this land,” the man continued, “we can’t interfere their actions. The script was set.”

“Why. Why are you telling me?" he squeezed words out, his head dizzy.

"I like you, young man. You remind me of someone I know from my youth.” A shrug from the well-dressed man in suit. "Tut-tut. I’m getting old and sentimental.”

Alex stared blankly again at the photos, considering as he deliberately took deep long breaths.

_Another deal? Another chance for them both?_

"He is my everything," he heard himself stated plainly. Word by word, void of emotions.

An inquiry of motives.

"They’ve been too harsh. Definitely not my way to take advantage of romantics. A genius’ mind should work better.” Alex watched the man pause and pop a sweet into his mouth. “When his needs are met.”

Verbal communication under stress was never Alex's strong suit. Not to mention when his sleep-deprived overwhelmed brain was unable to multitask while attempting to picture the current situation. Looking at his love's misery did not help. He heard faint sound of teeth crushing hard-boiled sweet and a satisfied sigh.

“I’m flying to London to visit an old friend,” the man offered casually, “I’ve been working in your country for a decade. Used to enjoy a smoke along the Thames.”

“Please, at least give him an idea what he's facing.” A slip of tongue again and Alex’s thoughts were now in the open. He sounded pathetic and he could not be more disadvantaged.

To his surprise, the older man nodded. 

“Sometimes in our line of work, an unusual high IQ isn't enough. But I’m asking you reconsider the possibilities.”

Alex gazed at the last photo. It was the only one featuring someone he had seen before. An old man whose identity was certain. He tried not to fidget under scrutiny.

"Time to do it another way round, from equations to actions." 

“What should I offer in return?” He enquired carefully.  He was of course neither innocent nor naive, and he hated that  such a brief suggestion was what it took to ignite hope in his empty chest for the first time in months.

“People meet by chance in parks. Work frustrates people,” the older man sighed again with a bit of drama, looking at his watch. “I myself enjoy reading. There're lots of literature masterpieces by the Brits. But I’m more into the Classics.”

Alex blinked at the sharp change of subject. The photos were gently taken away from his grip. He frowned at the envelop remaining in his hand as his counterpart went into animated sharing.

“I’m currently reading Plutarch. Fascinating. Who would think a crown of throned plants symbolises patience for something you desire? It was also decorations presented to a citizen who saved another's life by soldiers. Fighters, that is. I've thought of making one from my plants. Perhaps I should check throughly before I do."

Alex's only response was a decision to memorise these cryptic messages for later.

"Anyways. Sorry I’ve got carried away." A pause and a subtle gaze at the envelop. Photos were tugged away in the coat. 

“You’re far from helpless when you have intelligence," the man murmured as if it was an afterthought. Turning, he added cheerfully, "Patience and planning. Don’t wear yourself out, Holmwood.” 

Alex watched the figure strolling down the path nonchalantly. It was surreal until his current name broke the spell. The information was too much after a long day. He mindlessly folded the envelope in his hands and began running to a even more deserted part of the park. It also helped warm his blood. 

Revealed readable under streetlight, letters were faintly written on the sticky part underneath the peel of the self-seal flap. He tried to ignore the bitterness from having message delivered to him in the same way he once had, but only from Danny, as an in-joke. It was a familiar name he had come across somewhere since he was here. Debating thoughts fermented in his mind, keeping him occupied during his cautious return back to his flat while appearing empty-handed. 

After a quick shower, the first conscious thing he did was quickly jotting down a reminder of subtly relocating the plotted cacti in his rooms. With a code made from the name he just learnt. Boiling in a pot saucepan with torn paper as additional fuel, his first mug of tea was brewed and drunk at perfect temperature as he replayed the encounter in his mind. He knew he was still being taken advantage of and he still had no choice. Risks and chances came together. The need to protect himself and Danny became more important after the news. 

By the time when he downed his second mug of tea, he had been scribbling notes in numbers and symbols on various observations and resources ready for his use since he arrived the States, considering various approaches to regain more control on his love’s fate. The name did not quite ring a bell. He was uncertain of that American superior’s motives, yet he could try to get the best outcome. For them both. Hopefully.

The silence in the flat made him edgy. He played a selection of Bach's organ music from the portable CD player, feeling the pressure of the headphone earmuffs stabilising, along with the rational progression of Baroque melodies.

While the situation was grave, not knowing how Danny would react to a probable alert, he painfully eliminated quick and overambitious ways. A year was the estimated time to achieve the goal step by step under the cover of his project. He feared it would be too late. He needed to keep Danny physically unharmed after he hurt him so much. Squeezing his eyes shut till they hurt, he searched through and through his memories for connections to the name. Nothing useful. Headache. Frustration. Anger.

The background music ended abruptly with a soft thud. His headphone was on the carpeted floor. He closed his eyes to shut away the sight with a sigh.

When no more work could be done at the moment, his rational thought screamed _bedtime._  He reluctantly picked up the headphone and placed it gently back at the usual corner of his desk, straightening everything in sight. He did not bother to get under the duvet but he grabbed an extra pillow to hold on to. Unreservedly, he let himself drown in his feelings for Danny, who was fighting alone to clear the name of his "dead" love at the expanse of his safety. How much had his love known since then? 

_It cannot be. It's impossible for Danny to have the cylinder. They will know. Timestamps were on the photos. I need to know. Had they known? What if he does?_

Fixing his stare at a point on the ceiling, he had minutes of diaphragmatic breathing as he tried to loosen up his suffocating hug around the pillow. He acknowledged his feelings, letting waves of guilt, horror, ache and pain drown him throughly. The clinical psychologist's advice did help him overcome a potential panic attack.

He was never ignorant he was a patient of someone who also had certain clearance level. He had been once shown newspaper clippings of his own "death". He could attempt another appointment. A slim chance was that he could get bonus desperately-needed information. At least a confirmation that the news tonight was not a complete lie. He had read from reports and he could find suitable reactions to achieve his wishes, even by experimenting with his latest algorithm too. 

He had never tried to pull strings for purpose. It was new to someone who spent years generalising observations into numbers while avoiding social interactions. But how could he not try? _The weaver and presenter of crowns of thorns for people who would save their lives._ He bitterly stared at the ceiling, refusing to think of that analogy under a religious context. Whether the new information was a blessing or curse for them, he had on his love's birthday new possibilities to work with and he needed undivided concentration. To him this should be the  last night to spend with unhelpful sentiments before he set out and enact his plans. 

Firstly, he should get permission to bring work home and access to electronic gadgets outside his office. Just to test how the hierarchy worked here and make his inquisition outside of work less suspicious. 

With the immediate plans confirmed to his satisfaction, he made himself relax, allowing the strained eyelids drop. He did need a rested mind for long battles and challenges. Their love could be counted on as motivation. It had been the only truth since the beginning and it still stood after its seeming end.

As his consciousness slowly slipped away, little did he know what happened real time across the pond. He had acknowledged this was the first birthday they did not spend together, yet he would have no idea it was also one day after the media wronged them both again. Also unheard of was that his love, sacked by the warehouse manager, returned home dejected and shattered. Of course he would be clueless about how worried Sara and Pavel were, hearing incoherent swearing amid sobs for a whole night after their flatmate locked himself in his room with alcohol enough to knock out four people.

Even though Alex was informed of these all, he could neither hold his tortured love in his arms nor kiss that ridiculous mop of curly hair. 

There was one last thing, unknown to them both once they woke up again for another day, ocean apart: 

_If birthday wishes are really real_ , Danny mumbled heartbrokenly before passing out one last time before sunrise, _please make Alex alive and unhurt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If this still makes sense to you, I'll write two more for this series :)  
> Comments welcomed and cherished!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading- I wish I could come up with something better for your enjoyment. It’s a tiny fandom and I’m so thankful for the kindness I’ve got for simply telling stories. This fic is finished and I’ll update within a week.  
> Comments are welcomed and cherished (and they encourage the muses to visit this unconfident and slow writer.)  
> I'm more than happy to discuss about the backstories I made up for this too ;)


End file.
